Maternal Instinct
by vcg73
Summary: Carole Hudson looks after Kurt when he stays home sick from school. Just a little not-quite mother and son bonding time. :D
1. Chapter 1

"Did you hear something?"

Burt Hummel grunted and opened one eye, squinting against the first rays of pre-dawn sunlight. "Huh?"

Carole was sitting up in bed, her head cocked like an inquisitive bird as she listened for whatever noise had awakened her. She repeated the question.

"I don't hear anything," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. He had one more hour before it would be time to get up for work and he did not want to lose a minute of it.

"I was sure that . . ." she trailed off. Shaking her head, she began to settle back down on the mattress, then she suddenly popped up again. "There! Did you hear it that time?"

"No. What?"

She looked at him like he was crazy for not being aware of the mysterious noise. "I think it was Kurt. I'm going to go check on the boys."

Not waiting for him to reply, she scrambled out of bed and pulled a robe on over her pajamas. She was out the door before Burt's sleepy brain could fully register that she was going. Curious, he sat up and closed his eyes, listening hard. He still didn't hear anything. The walls and floors of this house were well built and thickly insulated. It seemed impossible that Carole could have heard a sound coming all the way up from the basement, where Kurt and Finn slept.

Then again, he remembered back when Kurt was a baby. After his crib had been moved out of their room and into the tiny room down the hall that now served as a combination storage room and office, Kurt's mother had been hyper-alert to his softest sound of distress. She always knew, even when Burt would have sworn that the baby hadn't uttered a peep.

With a smile, Burt settled back into his pillow. If he was needed, Carole would call him, and in the meantime it was nice to know that her well-honed maternal radar had expanded to include his boy along with her own.

#~#~#~#~#

As soon as Carole Hudson opened the basement door, she knew that she had been right to come down. A wet-sounding cough met her ears, followed by a desperate gasp and a second harsher fit.

The lack of windows made the basement far darker than the bedroom upstairs, so Carole had to risk waking her son, whom she could hear snoring like a chain-saw at the far end of the room, by turning on the light.

As she descended the steps, she realized that there had been no need to worry. There was a grunt, a creak, then the snoring resumed even more vigorously than before. The coughing likewise paused for a beat, but then it burst forth again, all the more intense for Kurt's attempt at stifling it.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Carole asked, sitting down on his bed and gliding her hand gently over his hunched shoulders.

Kurt shook his head. "Can't . . . stop," he gasped, muffling another fit into his pillow.

She coaxed him with gentle pressure to sit up straighter, rubbing her hand against his upper chest to help relax the tense muscles and dispel the congestion. She could feel the boy's heart thumping wildly and knew that with the inability to draw a deep breath he was starting to panic, which was only making things worse. "Easy, now," she crooned. "Draw in as much air as you can and try to hold it for a second. Then cough it out in one big burst."

Kurt did his best to obey the suggestion, gasping a little as he struggled to make his lungs comply. Finally, he was able to do as advised, and his reddened face crinkled in disgust when a glob of thick yellowish fluid was finally hacked into his palm. "Ew," he groaned, holding the offending substance as far away from himself as he could.

Carole gave the lean shoulders under her arm a little squeeze. "Better?"

He nodded.

Leaving his side long enough to retrieve a couple of tissues and a wet-wipe from the boxes that sat on Kurt's makeup table, she helped him clear the mess from his hand and blot away the few tears that he had involuntarily shed while struggling to contain his cough.

Pressing the back of one hand against Kurt's cheeks and forehead, Carole shook her head. "You feel awfully warm, kiddo. I think you just earned yourself a day off from school."

"But I have a history test," he protested weakly, "and I _finally_ got assigned a solo in glee club. If I'm not there, Mr. Schuester will give it to someone else."

"Dude, you barely even have a voice today," Finn called out from across the room.

Carole looked up, surprised that she had failed to notice that her son was awake.

"I'll make sure Rachel doesn't steal your solo," Finn continued. "And you know Mr. Kendrick will let you make up the test. He's cool that way."

Kurt sighed, the sound coming out as more of a wheeze. "What about Miss Sylvester? She hates absenteeism."

"She'll hate it even more if you get the rest of the squad sick," Finn said reasonably. "Stay home."

"Okay," he whispered, giving up so easily that the Hudsons exchanged a concerned look. Leaning his head against Carole's conveniently available shoulder, Kurt closed his eyes and admitted, "I feel awful."

She placed a kiss against his forehead and hugged him again. "I know, sweetie." Looking at Finn, she said, "Honey, could you let Burt know what's going on and then bring me my phone? I need to call work and let them know that I'm staying home today."

"You don't have to," Kurt mumbled, the protest half-hearted at best.

"Yes, I do," she told him firmly. "I'm not leaving you here all alone and sick."

Finn had left his bed and pulled a pair of sweats on over his boxers and T-shirt. Walking over to his friend's bed, he playfully ruffled Kurt's sleep-mussed hair. "Don't bother arguing, bro. She'll win anyway."

The sick boy smiled a little, clearly happy to have his token protest ignored. Taking this as agreement, Finn went to fulfill his mother's order.

Suddenly, in spite of Carole's warm embrace, Kurt shivered from head to toe and turned his head away, stifling another cough into his fist.

Carole cut off the suggestion she had been about to make that Kurt lie back down, realizing that the poor boy must have been tossing and turning all night long as she took in the severely rumpled condition of his bed.

She had suspected that something was wrong when Kurt came home from school yesterday. He had disappeared long enough to exchange his Cheerios uniform for a simple sweatshirt and comfortable-looking jeans, then sat down on the couch to do his homework. After a break for dinner, a meal that he had only picked at in spite of the entrée being one of his favorites, he had spent the remainder of the evening listlessly watching television, protesting that he was fine when questioned, but otherwise remaining silent. Kurt had not uttered a single word of protest, not even the usual scathing fashion critique, when Finn and Burt had switched on a baseball game. He had just stared at the TV for another hour before declaring that he was heading for bed. Too caught up in their sport to notice how strange he was acting, the other guys had simply wished him a good night and gone back to their game.

Carole had allowed Burt's nonchalance to direct her actions, but now she wished she had followed her own instincts.

"How about I fix up the sofa for you?" she asked, knowing that she would be happier if she could keep an eye on him. She would come down later to air and remake the bed before he needed it again.

Kurt pulled somewhat reluctantly away from her warmth. "Okay."

They were interrupted by a sudden thunder of footsteps heralding the arrival of Kurt's father and Finn.

"Hey, buddy," Burt said, his voice gentle as he tipped Kurt's chin up to get a good look at his pale face and dulled blue eyes. "Finn says you aren't feeling so hot."

"I've been better," he croaked, offering his dad a weak smile.

"Chills, fever, coughing," Carole listed, watching Kurt patiently allow his father to look him over. "Probably a sore throat too, by the sound of him."

Kurt nodded his agreement to this. "Flu?"

"Probably. It seems to be going around." Burt looked at Carole and said, "Finn tells me you offered to stay home with Kurt today. You sure? I mean, I could stay."

"We'll be fine," she said, recognizing that he was a little uncertain whether having his girlfriend miss work to look after his sick son was an acceptable thing to do. In spite of their living arrangements, this was the first time such a circumstance had come up, and Carole knew she would have experienced similar doubts if it was Finn who was sick and their positions were reversed. "I want to. It'll be nice to spend a little extra time together."

Smiling, Burt kissed her cheek then asked, "That okay with you, slugger?"

Kurt looked at Carole and smirked. He had revealed to her once that his father reverted to a funny habit of calling him things like 'sport' and 'slugger' whenever he was worried and didn't want him to know it, never realizing that the names themselves were a perfect giveaway. "Sure, Dad."

"Okay, then," he said, still looking a little doubtful as he told Kurt, "I'll take my turn tomorrow. It'll be Friday and if you got flu, you're gonna need more than one day to get better."

As his friend's desperate eyes latched onto him at this decision, Finn smiled. "Chill, dude, I got you covered. I'll ask if Tina can cover your solo until Monday, 'cause you know she'll give it back. And I'll get Mercedes and Artie to help me collect any homework you miss."

Kurt's tense posture relaxed. "Thanks," he whispered.

Still looking as if he would rather stay, Burt took a step back and addressed Finn. "Seeing's how we're both up early, what do you say to IHOP and a ride to school?"

"Sure!" Finn agreed enthusiastically, immediately moving to gather some clean clothes and head for the shower. "Feel better, Kurt."

Kurt had made a face at the mention of the restaurant, happy not to be joining in the sugar and cholesterol feast, but sketched a sloppy salute to acknowledge the good wishes of his friend.

"You sure you'll be okay here?" Burt could not resist asking, eyes darting back and forth from Carole to Kurt. "You need me to bring you anything?"

Carole was about to say no, since they had a variety of cold medications upstairs, but Kurt's hopeful request for, "Ice cream?" made her smile.

Happy to have something he could do for his ailing offspring; Burt clapped a hand on the back of Kurt's neck and pressed a quick kiss against his forehead. "You got it."


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of slow footsteps made Carole look up from her task of turning the sofa into a bed. After Burt and Finn had left the house, she had encouraged Kurt to go take a hot shower in hopes that it would drive some of the chill from his bones. Unusually silent and obedient in his illness, Kurt had simply nodded, rummaged in his bureau for a new set of pajamas and headed for the bathroom.

Looking him over now, she felt her heart go out to the sick teen. It was obvious that the steaming water had not done much to help his condition. Kurt was shuffling more than walking, his posture hunched, arms crossed and both hands tucked into his armpits for warmth as he muffled a ragged cough into his shoulder. He looked like a little boy with his damp hair curling over his brow and the oversized red and black plaid PJ's he had chosen practically swallowing him whole, bare toes curling into the thick carpet beneath his feet. All he really needed was a teddy bear to complete the effect.

"Here you are," Carole greeted cheerfully; patting one of the pillows she had just finished setting in place. "Try this out and see how it feels."

Kurt moved closer. The cushions on the couch were deep and soft to begin with, and Carole had topped them with one of his dad's heavy sleeping bags before adding a fleecy blanket and a comforter, padding up the entire left arm of the couch with pillows. He studied the arrangement for a moment before crawling in between the two layers of sleeping bag, allowing Carole to pull the blankets over him. It took a little shifting to get the pillows right but the little sigh that escaped when he settled gave proof to the fact that she had done a good job.

"Here's the TV remote, a fresh box of tissues and a wastebasket," she told him, placing all of the items within easy reach. "I checked the medicine cabinet and fixed you this. Your dad says you like it better sweet, so I put in some sugar."

She handed him a steaming cup filled with flu medicine; the kind that tasted just like hot lemonade with the addition of some boiling water and sweetener.

"This is really nice of you," Kurt mumbled, his expression a little puzzled as he took a careful sip.

"My pleasure," she told him, smiling at his confusion. Burt was a kind and sweet man, but he probably wasn't the type who would naturally fuss over a sick person. Waiting until Kurt finished his medicine; she took back the empty cup, allowing him to tuck his cold hands under the covers. "You need anything else, sweetie?"

He shook his head. "How come you keep calling me that?"

"Sweetie?"

Kurt nodded.

"I don't know. It just feels right, I guess. I can stop if you don't like it."

"No, it's just . . . it's been a really long time."

Carole understood his meaning at once. "Is that what your mom called you?"

Biting his lip, he nodded again. "I think I like hearing you say it."

"I'm glad," she told him, giving in to the urge to stroke Kurt's bangs out of his eyes and smiling when he heaved a small, contented-sounding breath. "When Finn was a little boy and he wasn't feeling well, he always said this made him feel better."

"Me, too," he said, his heavy eyelids drifting closed as she continued to gently pet his hair. "You're really good at it."

She laughed. "Well, thank you. I've had plenty of practice."

In no hurry to leave him, she perched on the sturdy coffee table next to Kurt's makeshift bed and continued her soothing rhythm. She could tell that he wasn't asleep, but except for the occasional retrieval of a tissue, he did not move for several minutes.

"Where did you get these?" she finally asked curiously, watching the boy curl his fingers into the too-long sleeve of his thick flannel shirt.

Kurt opened one eye to see what she was talking about, then closed it again. "Used to be Dad's," he murmured. "He put them in a Goodwill sack, but I took them out again."

Carole smiled, wondering if Burt had any idea that his determinedly fashion-conscious son had filched a pair of his old pajamas to use, if she was reading the situation correctly, as his very own wearable security blanket. She suspected not. For all of Kurt's sometimes childish or girlish tendencies, he was still a teenaged boy, with all of the natural horror of embarrassment and desire for his father's respect that that entailed.

"They look comfortable. I may have to steal a pair for myself," she said, chuckling when Kurt smiled and snuggled deeper into his cozy nest. "You feeling any warmer?"

"Getting there."

"Good. I think I'm going to go fix us some breakfast."

Kurt's nose wrinkled. "Rather have lunch," he countered, yawning and then coughing roughly. He winced, pressing the backs of his fingers against his sore throat for support as he swallowed. "Dad's bringing ice cream."

"Right, I forgot," she said, wondering how anyone who was so obviously freezing could be looking forward to eating ice cream. Of course, Kurt's usual disdain for unhealthy snacks did not hold up against that particular treat either. According to Burt, his son could happily live on the stuff if given half a chance.

Smiling fondly, Carole watched as this contradictory boy, whom she was coming to love nearly as much as her own son drifted off to sleep. "Pleasant dreams, sweetie."


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt slept heavily for the next several hours, snuggled so far into his bedding that Carole could see little more than a thick brush of brown hair peeking above the blankets.

She checked on him often as she went about doing household chores, including a trip downstairs to remake Kurt's bed with fresh, clean linens. He seemed to be resting fairly peacefully, but she was concerned by the frequent coughing, as well as the increased tendency toward snoring as the morning wore on. The congestion filling his lungs had now clearly staked a claim on his sinuses as well.

Carole Hudson had always been the care-giver type, happy to take care of those she loved. Her parents, friends and son could all attest to her nurturing tendencies, and Burt could as well by now, but this was the first time she had really been in a position to do anything for Kurt. He was a distinctly independent boy, proud and self-motivated, happy to give a helping hand to others but leery of accepting favors for himself. She supposed that was understandable, given how quickly he had been forced to grow up after first losing his mother and then coming to the socially unpopular realization that he was gay. The poor kid had become convinced that it was not safe to let his guard down around anyone except, occasionally, his father.

She was pulled from her musings when her sharp ears picked up a distressed whimper from the living room. Hurrying out of the kitchen, she found Kurt kicking and twisting at his blankets. His flushed face was scrunched, mouth opening and closing in silent panic as his hands clawed their way free of the covers and flailed as if reaching for something just beyond his grasp.

"Kurt," she said in a firm voice, catching one of his hands. "Kurt, wake up. It's only a nightmare. Wake up!"

His eyes popped open and he jerked into a sitting position so fast that their heads nearly collided. Carole was forced to take an abrupt seat on the sofa next to him to keep from being hit, which proved advantageous when Kurt blindly threw his arms around her body and clung to her with desperate strength.

"Shhh," Carole hushed, rubbing a comforting hand over his back. "Take it easy, sweetie. You're all right now. I've got you."

"Carole?" he said, uncertainty in his tone.

She hugged him a little harder. "That's right. Are you all right?"

His breath was still heaving and it was clear that his lungs did not appreciate this abuse as they quickly sent him into a powerful coughing fit that had him pressing a hand against his chest, groaning in purest misery.

"Oh, you poor thing," Carole sighed when the spell finally ended.

Kurt's lean body slumped forward, hot forehead coming to rest against her shoulder as he whispered, "It's okay," sounding as if he was telling himself more than her. "It's okay."

Pulling away, he hitched himself back a couple of inches to lean against the pillows. His trembling fingers automatically reached up to try and brush his hair into order, an act that only served to rumple it further without the aid of his usual bevy of styling products. Carole could not help smiling at the result.

"Sorry," he told her, the color in his cheeks suddenly rising even higher. "I didn't mean to grab onto you like that."

"I didn't mind," she told him, patting his blanket-covered leg. "I'm glad I was here. That must've been one scary dream."

He nodded. Grabbing a couple of tissues, he wiped his mouth and then blew his nose. A disgusted expression twisted his face as he tossed away the result. "Gross," he muttered. Pulling his knees up, he hugged them and said, "I was drowning."

It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about his nightmare. "Where were you?"

"School, at first," he said, attempting to clear his throat when his voice came out so reedy and thin that it was barely audible. "Somebody threw me in a dumpster, but instead of landing in the trash I somehow landed in the middle of a lake. I couldn't remember how to swim and I was going under, but nobody could hear me calling for help."

He shivered, either from the memory or from another chill. Perhaps a combination of the two. "That sounds terrifying," Carole said, squeezing his clenched hands. She was no psychologist but it didn't take a professional to recognize a fear of abandonment and isolation in the images he presented. "Guess it's a good thing you have a lifeguard on duty."

Kurt looked up, startled, but he read something in her steady gaze that drained much of the tension from his form. His hands turned up, clasping hers tightly. A wealth of emotion filled his bright greenish-blue eyes but all he said was, "Baywatch has nothing on you."

She smiled, allowing the moment to lighten as she asked, "Since when do you know anything about Baywatch?"

"Finn got me started on weekend reruns," he said, a spark of mischief in his eyes that Carole was happy to see. "That show has equal opportunity drool-bait."

Carole laughed. "I suppose it does. I know I'd be lying if I said I watched it for the deep, meaningful plotlines."

"Bronze gods in little red swim trunks," he agreed, laughter dispelling the last of his reaction to the nightmare.

They were still giggling, Kurt struggling to laugh and cough at the same time, when the front door opened and Burt Hummel walked in. He smiled at them both and ruffled Kurt's messy hair before touching his face to check the level of his fever. "Sounds like somebody is feeling a little better. How you doing, champ?"

"I'm okay," Kurt squeaked, rolling his eyes when his voice gave out again, giving lie to his claim.

"You have good timing," Carole told her boyfriend, arching up to accept a peck on the lips. "Kurt just woke up from his nap and I was about to go and get him another dose of medicine and some lunch."

Burt nodded, removing his battered baseball cap and setting it on the coffee table. "Sounds good to me. I brought the supplies you asked for," he told his son, holding up a plastic sack and grinning when Kurt's eyes lit up at the sight of a half-gallon carton of Neapolitan ice cream. "I would've gone for the chocolate brownie kind you like so much, but with a sore throat I figured you might not want anything that didn't slide down real smooth."

"Thanks, Dad," he said, licking his dry lips in eager anticipation.

"Why don't you come out to the kitchen with me and dish that up while I fix some soup and sandwiches," Carole invited him. She told Kurt, "Chicken noodle may be a cliché but it really does do the trick."

He nodded, apparently fine with her choice, but his gaze was still fixed on the dessert container and she wondered if he had even heard what she said.

"What were you guys laughing at just now?" Burt asked, following Carole out to the kitchen.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the alarmed look on Kurt's face and replied, "Oh, it was nothing. You probably had to be there." She gave the boy a surreptitious wink, letting him know that his secret was safe with her.


	4. Chapter 4

Carole had already been in the process of heating soup and putting together the makings for grilled-cheese sandwiches when she had been interrupted by Kurt's nightmare. By the time everything was ready to serve; Burt had dished up a large bowl of ice cream for his son and smaller servings for himself and Carole, and caught up on the progression of Kurt's flu.

Together, they loaded the food onto two trays and carried them out to the living room. Kurt had turned on the TV and was idly flipping channels while he waited but as soon as he noticed them, he switched the set off again and tossed the remote aside. "I forgot how bad daytime TV is."

"It's the real reason why retired guys spend all their time fishing," Burt retorted.

"And retired ladies?" Carole put in. "What do they do for fun?"

"I dunno. I guess someday we'll both find out."

Carole felt a little thrill filling her heart when Burt so casually spoke of their long term future together. She saw that Kurt was looking at his father in a speculative way and knew that he had noticed it as well. Not wanting to dwell on that thought for right now, she said, "Before we start planning out a time-share somewhere, why don't we just eat so you won't be late getting back to work?"

"I'm in no rush," he told her with a smile. He inhaled the aroma wafting from the tray in his hands before setting it down over Kurt's lap. "Soup smells pretty good."

Kurt's attempted sniff went nowhere. "I'll take your word for it."

Burt gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Kurt was the only person getting soup, just half a bowlful in deference to his decreased appetite, but Carole had also provided half a sandwich, a cup of medicine, a glass of cold water and the promised dessert. Burt saw him eyeing the latter and ordered, "Take your medicine and eat your lunch first. That's not going to disappear before you get to it."

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered, amusing Carole. It was obvious that the two of them had had similar conversations in the past.

Kurt started with the medicine, alternating the hot liquid with water to get it down faster. The sandwich he simply shook his head over and handed the plate back to his father, who accepted it without comment.

"Is everything all right?" Carole asked, watching Kurt blow on each spoonful of soup and grimace slightly before attempting to swallow it.

He nodded, then fidgeted, uncomfortable with the adults' close scrutiny. "Finn seemed really excited about IHOP," he said, trying to redirect their attention.

Taking the hint, Burt backed off and sat down in his favorite chair. "That's because Thursday is apparently all you can eat Pancake Day."

Carole laughed. "Oh, no. Did you manage to get him to school on time?"

"Barely," Burt told her, shaking his head. "That kid can really pack it away. We got to school with about five minutes to spare, and I stopped by the office to make sure Kurt's absence was excused for today and tomorrow. If he's still sick on Monday, we'll need a doctor's visit to clear him, but for now everything is good."

Kurt shook his head. "I'll be okay by then." He paused for a few seconds to cough, sighed and said, "I hope."

"Let's just take it one day at a time," his father advised. "Oh, I also stopped by Sylvester's office to tell her you'd be out for Cheerios practice this week. She started ranting about how plagues decimated cheerleading teams back in the renaissance. Can you believe that? The woman is completely nuts! She also sent you a message but I don't think I want to repeat it. If she was a guy, I would've belted her."

To the surprise of both adults, Kurt grinned. "Something like, 'Tell lady face to keep his disease-riddled butt at home until he can do a back flip without hacking out a lung on my perfectly polished gymnasium floor?"

"Pretty close," Burt admitted, looking at him strangely. "Does she talk to you like that a lot?"

"She talks to everybody like that. Even Principal Figgins."

Giving up on his attempt to spoon out the last few noodles, Kurt picked up his bowl and tipped the rest of the soup into his mouth. Setting it aside, he gulped down some water and happily moved on to his ice cream. Taking a large spoonful, he held the cold substance in his mouth for a few seconds, then tipped his head back and allowed it to slide slowly down his sore throat, looking so blissful that Carole and Burt both had to laugh.

"Looks like you're all set for the afternoon," Burt chuckled a few minutes later as he finished his own lunch and observed Kurt still happily involved with his ice cream. "Guess I'd better get back to work. I'll see you both tonight."

"Thanks again, Dad," Kurt said around his very full mouth, waving his spoon in goodbye.

Burt ruffled his hair for a second time, earning an eye-roll from the sick boy that made Carole smile. She had learned from experience that under normal circumstances, disturbing Kurt's perfectly arranged locks meant risking a long and loud vocal protest, but today he seemed to understand that having serious bed-head made the impulse irresistible.

As Burt grabbed his cap and automatically checked his pockets for keys and wallet, he suddenly paused, looking oddly at his son. "Y'know, I used to have a pair of pajamas exactly like that?"

Kurt blinked innocently. "Really?"

Playing along, Carole said, "It's a very fashionable pattern."

Brows twitching, Burt shrugged. "Guess so. Well, you take it easy, son."

Kurt nodded, flashing Carole a smile as he went back to eating. She had every intention of telling Burt where the pajamas had come from later in the privacy of their bedroom, knowing that he would be touched by the notion, but she would not embarrass Kurt by saying anything in front of him.

After lunch, Kurt switched the TV back on, apparently deciding that even the most mindless junk was better than total silence. He finally stumbled across a program on Imperial Japan and stayed for awhile, all of the intricate armor and colorful kimonos seemingly satisfying his need for entertainment.

Carole left him to his viewing, enjoying the unusual opportunity to settle down and read a magazine in the middle of a weekday afternoon, but eventually she noticed that Kurt's breathing was sounding raspy and strained and that he was starting to cough heavily again.

"I think it's time we put some vapor rub on you," she suggested, setting her book aside.

Kurt made a face. "Do I have to? It makes my pajamas all sticky."

"They'll wash, and it will help you breathe easier," she said firmly, not about to be talked out of her decision by such a weak argument. "I don't like the way you're wheezing."

Wincing as he let loose a particularly harsh cough, Kurt heaved a miserable sigh and nodded his assent.

Carole headed to the laundry room first, where a freshly washed stack of her son's clothing was waiting transport to the basement. She borrowed a plain white T-shirt from the pile, knowing that Finn would never miss it until it could be washed again, and suspecting that Kurt probably didn't own anything like this. He was even more oddly particular about his undergarments than he was his outside clothes.

Shirt in hand, she retrieved the jar of vapor rub from the medicine cabinet and brought them both back to the living room. Kurt had temporarily abandoned his couch for a trip to the bathroom, and when he returned he sat down primly on the very edge of the sofa, unbuttoning his pajama shirt with a reluctant expression.

"It will work best if you put some on both your back and your chest," Carole told him.

She could tell that he was embarrassed as he shrugged his way out of the shirt, averting his eyes and turning partway around so that she could reach his back. Carole couldn't blame him. There was nothing wrong with his body, but Kurt was just not used to being seen or touched by women and he was obviously self conscious about it.

Wanting to make this as easy as possible, Carole did not hesitate, scooping the pungent ointment onto her fingertips and rubbing it over his back down to the edge of his ribcage. Taking a bit more from the jar, she gestured toward the pale chest and asked, "Would you rather finish this by yourself?"

Kurt hesitated, then shook his head, staring at the wall and pretending not to be uncomfortable as the medicine was efficiently massaged into his skin.

"There we are, all finished," Carole told him, offering the T-shirt with her free hand. "If Finn asks, we borrowed this from your dad."

He grinned at that, accepting the shirt and hurriedly putting it on, grimacing a little when the soft cotton immediately suctioned to his skin, but looking happy not to have to put up with sticky flannel as he pulled the plaid pajama shirt back over the top. "Thanks."

"Sorry, I know that stuff isn't very pleasant, but it will help," she told him, wiping her hands off on a tissue. "How about I make it up to you with a movie? We can put in anything you want."

Kurt considered the offer. "Chicago?"

Movie musicals weren't Carole's favorite genre, but she did not hesitate. "You got it."

His slight smile grew bigger as she searched out the correct case and popped in the DVD. Settling back into his sofa-bed, Kurt curled his legs up and invited, "Want to share?"

Carole smiled back and took a seat on the free end of the sofa, resting a hand on his blanketed lower legs. They watched in comfortable silence, Carole paying more attention to Kurt than to the movie as he avidly viewed the action on screen, silently mouthing the words to each song. She could feel her heart melting as she watched him struggle to keep his eyes open throughout the second act, finally losing his battle right around the time that Roxy Hart was getting her first day in court.

Switching off the disc, Carole picked up her abandoned magazine. They could finish watching the movie together later.


	5. Chapter 5

Kurt dozed on and off throughout the day, seemingly unable to work up enough energy to do anything else. He had managed to finish watching "Chicago" after two more attempts, but Carole could tell that he had not derived his usual enjoyment from the film. He had given up on television and even the glossy pages of her abandoned celebrity magazine could not hold his attention for more than a few minutes. The fever remained steady, just high enough to make Kurt restless and uncomfortable without really doing anything to alleviate his persistent chills.

Carole had kept the medications coming and Kurt had patiently accepted whatever he was given, but the constant aching in his throat had stalled most of his desire for conversation. She had noticed that he seemed to be breathing easier since the vapor ointment began to take effect and so insisted on a second treatment. Kurt did not seem convinced that the resultant increase in nose-blowing was a worthwhile trade-off. His nose had become tender and red throughout the day, even with the special lotion-treated tissues he'd been using, and he periodically sighed without seeming to realize that he was doing it.

Right around four o'clock, Kurt jerked awake from another unplanned nap with a yelp that immediately turned into a cough when the front door slammed open and Finn blew in and bellowed, "I'm home!"

"Oh, _Finn_," Carole scolded. "How many times have I told you not to do that?"

The tall teenager looked repentant as he gently closed the door. "Oops. Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Kurt. Didn't mean to startle you."

Kurt waved off the apology, shaking his head as he struggled to get a normal enough breath to speak through. "Not . . . your fault." At last, he managed to get control of himself and flopped back against the pillows, panting. "_Crap_. I hate being sick."

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "About that . . ."

Kurt frowned, as did Carole when they both noticed that Finn was still standing next to the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Finn?" his mother prompted.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. "Some of the girls got worried when you didn't answer their texts, and they wanted to come over and find out how you were doing."

"Texts?" Kurt repeated. He looked surprised, as if only just now realizing that he did not have his phone with him. Unsurprising, considering that it was usually all but glued to his hand. Shaking his head, he said, "My cell is downstairs. I've been up here most of the day."

"Oh. Well, you probably got, like, fifty messages by now."

Carole made an exasperated noise. "Didn't you tell anyone that he was sick?"

Finn nodded vigorously. "Sure! I told Mr. Shue right away and he told the rest of the glee club."

"Then why all the messages? Couldn't they wait a couple of days for him to recover?"

Both boys looked at her as if she had just spoken in Swahili.

Carole sighed. Right. "And since he wasn't answering his phone, you just thought it would be a good idea to bring some of the others over to check on him," she guessed, watching her son's antsy movements.

Beaming at her understanding, Finn said, "Right!"

Evidently Kurt had missed that bit of information the first time around, for true alarm leapt into his eyes as he squeaked, "_What_?"

"It's just Mercedes, and Tina, and um, maybe Brittany?" he trailed off, seeming to realize for the first time that Kurt was not happy at the prospect of visitors.

"Maybe?" he snapped.

He smiled. "They're out on the porch."

With a heartfelt groan, Kurt covered his face with both hands. "What were you planning to do? Sell tickets?"

"Maybe. You do look kind of freaky," Finn said, continuing to smile winningly at him.

Carole stifled the urge to laugh. It was a well-known fact within the Hummel-Hudson household that Kurt was physically unable to resist giving in to whatever goofy or outrageous request Finn made of him when her son was flashing that charming little smile. She had often experienced the same difficulty herself. "Finn, you know that isn't nice. You should have called me and made sure it was all right with Kurt before dragging those poor girls all the way over here. Especially when Kurt is probably still contagious."

Finn almost seemed to shrink a little as the enthusiasm went out of him. "I didn't think of that. Guess I should tell them to go, huh?"

"No," Kurt sighed. "Just, give me a minute."

Once Kurt had climbed out of his makeshift bed and disappeared into the half-bathroom down the hall, Carole quickly straightened the blankets and pillows and gave Finn the task of clearing away all the used tissues and other clutter that had accumulated throughout the day.

When Kurt returned, it was obvious that he had washed his face and made some attempt to tame his wild hair. The lack of a brush had made the latter something of a pointless effort but at least it was no longer sticking straight up. A trip down and back up the basement steps for proper grooming implements had clearly involved more effort than he felt able to expend.

Folding himself back into his blankets, Kurt waved his fingertips at Finn, like a young emperor on his throne. "Go."

"Kurt," Carole scolded, warning in her voice. She understood that he did not feel well and that Finn had overstepped his bounds, but she was not going to let him get away with being rude.

He blushed. "_Please_ let them in?"

"Much better."

The three girls practically trampled Finn in their eagerness to get at Kurt. Clearly, being made to wait for several minutes on the porch had done nothing to alleviate their anxiety. All three totally ignored Finn's reminder that their friend might be contagious, particularly Mercedes, who plunked down right next to Kurt and gave him a hug.

"We've been so worried about you, baby," she said. "Finn said you had the flu, but I was afraid you might be on death's doorstep when you didn't text me back."

"Been sleeping," he admitted, leaning his head against hers for a moment. "And you probably shouldn't be so close to me. I've been coughing all day."

Brittany looked around the room. "I really like your house."

"You've been here before," he reminded her. "Twice."

She blinked, frowning as she tried to remember. "Wasn't it gray before?"

Kurt closed his eyes as if praying for strength. "Only in my room."

"Oh, yeah." She sniffed the air and smiled. "Upstairs is nicer. It smells like my grandpa."

"I think that's cough medicine, Brit," Tina told her helpfully. She smiled brightly at Kurt. "When Mr. Shue told us you were sick today, I beat Rachel at volunteering to sing your solo. I didn't perform it nearly as good as you, though. You can show us how it's done on Monday."

He smiled. "Thanks, Ti. I knew I could count on you."

For a few minutes, the girls filled him in on everything he had missed at McKinley that day, the most important being that Dave Karofsky had mistimed a Slushie attack on a freshman and hit Sue Sylvester instead. He had last been seen blubbering like a little girl as the coach hauled him away by his ear and was now considered a dead-man-walking by one and all.

They all smiled and laughed over the gossip until, out of nowhere, Brittany suddenly blurted, "Do you mind if I pet you?"

Kurt blinked at the non-sequitur. "What?"

"I think she wants to touch your hair. She likes it all messed up," Mercedes told him with a laugh. "I do, too. It's kinda hot."

"The scruff is sexy, too," Tina teased, leaning over the back of the couch to brush a finger over Kurt's cheek which, 32 hours after he had last shaved, was managing to sport a barely perceptible dark shadowing.

Kurt blushed, clearly not sure if the girls were joking or not. He looked at Finn, who just shrugged. "Um, thanks?"

Brittany seemed to take this as permission to touch, for she grinned and stepped forward, running her fingers through Kurt's unkempt locks. "Wow," she breathed. "Your hair is even softer than your hands. Next time you get it cut, you should totally start making a pillow!"

Kurt looked utterly revolted by this suggestion but was saved from having to answer by a sudden catch in his breathing. Quickly covering his mouth with his fist, he turned away from Mercedes and did his best to stifle the deep, ragged coughing.

The girls flew into action, cooing pityingly over Kurt and presenting the box of tissues as they patted his arm, his back and his head in solicitous gestures of comfort.

Feeling a little sorry for the poor kid, and not sure how much longer she could contain herself before she started shrieking with mirth, Carole stepped in. "All right, ladies. I think that's enough. Thank you for coming over. I'm sure Kurt appreciates your visit, but as you can see he's still sick and he needs to rest. You can tell the rest of the club that he'll see you all on Monday."

"Okay, Mrs. Hudson. Goodbye, Kurt. Feel better!" they chorused, waving their farewells as they departed.

After seeing them out, Finn was grinning like he'd just won a gold medal at the Olympic Games. "See? I knew they'd make you feel better!"

Kurt laid his head back against the pillows, looking at Finn from a slightly upside-down perspective. His expression suggested that the other boy had lost his mind. "That had to be the most exhausting, not to mention _surreal_, fifteen minutes of my entire life." When the other boy slumped, looking like a friendly dog who had just been scolded without reason, Kurt said, "Thanks, Finn."

He instantly perked up again. "Sure. I figured it had to be pretty boring just hanging around here all day with nobody to talk to but Mom. No offense, Mom."

Carole rolled her eyes. "Oh, none taken."

"So, you want to play a card game or something?"

Although Carole was absolutely certain that Kurt did _not_, she smiled lovingly at both of her boys when he replied, "Why not?"

The tender feeling only got stronger when Kurt dozed off halfway through the second hand and Finn simply smiled and gathered the cards back up. Tucking the sliding comforter snugly around his almost-brother's sleeping form; Finn quietly retrieved his backpack and gave his mother a smile before heading down the basement steps.


	6. Chapter 6

Things were fairly peaceful in the house until evening fell and Burt Hummel arrived home. Finding Kurt awake and thumbing through a book, he passed a moment in cursory small-talk and then immediately switched on yet another baseball game. Finn appeared from the basement, zeroing in on the sound of sports like a sailor to a siren-call, shoving Kurt's feet out of his way so that he could sit on the end of the sofa and watch.

Busy fixing dinner, Carole did not realize anything was wrong at first but when she walked into the living room, intending to ask Kurt if he felt up to eating with the rest of the family, she saw it immediately.

The sick boy was glowering at his father and friend, the expression going entirely unnoticed as the two of them excitedly bellowed insults at the television set. Kurt shifted position, "accidentally" kicking Finn in the process, but the taller boy just scooted further away. Burt was equally oblivious to the pointedly loud cough that came next, just leaning over the side of his chair and groping for the tissue box, which he handed over without a glance. Kurt's blue eyes shifted from one to the other, his lower lip actually poking out a tiny bit.

Carole winced as she saw the anger melting away from Kurt's face when the other two hooted in delight over a double-play, stretching across the coffee table to high-five each other, his irritated expression becoming replaced by such sadness that it made her heart ache.

She had noticed before that Kurt rarely stuck around to watch sports and truthfully, she didn't either, but she also knew that it was not simply a dislike of the games that drove him away. When it was just Burt, he sometimes stayed for a while, sitting in contented silence. When it was him and Finn, Kurt would amuse himself by picking apart the faults of his friend's favorite players, just to annoy him. However, Carole had never realized before that when Burt and Finn watched sports together, it was as if Kurt simply disappeared. He might as well have become part of the sofa he lounged on for all the attention they paid him.

And today, that truly mattered. Kurt had not barreled into their sacred sports-loving "guy" sanctum to annoy them with color swatches and demo CDs, after all. _They_ had invaded _his_ peaceful sickroom with loud voices and boisterous energy, and then proceeded to ignore him.

As the game went to commercial, Carole deliberately walked in and picked up the remote control, switching the television off. All three of them looked at her in surprise. "Honey, what are you doing?" Burt protested, stretching a hand toward the blank screen. "The game still has four innings to go!"

"Yeah, mom. We were watching that," Finn chimed in, injury in every syllable.

"Have you finished your homework, young man?" she countered, placing a fist on her hip. "Because the last I heard you had some _killer_ book report due in English class tomorrow. Or did you manage to read those last five chapters in between the list of batting averages?"

Finn looked down at his scuffed sneakers and mumbled, "No."

"Well, you still have a little time until dinner is ready. I think you can manage to get a few pages in before we eat."

Heaving a sigh that seemed to come all the way from the tips of his toes, Finn dutifully accepted the book that Kurt silently handed over. The two boys did not have English the same period, but they did share a teacher and so had been reading the same assigned literature. Since Kurt was not due back in class until Monday, he would have extra time to complete his report.

Carole then turned to Burt. "And _you_ have barely spoken a word to me or your son since you came in the door. 'How you feeling?' and 'Dinner smells great,' are not going to cut it. I don't think either one of us appreciates playing second fiddle to a bunch of guys in stirrup-pants. Especially considering that you don't even like the Reds."

Burt had the grace to look guilty, but he smiled at Kurt, noticing that the boy had grinned at Carole's mention of those aesthetically revolting uniforms. "Guess I _was_ a little distracted," he said. "What have you two been doing today?"

"Nothing," Kurt admitted reluctantly.

Taking a seat on the arm of Burt's chair, Carole told him, "That's not true. We watched a movie together. And some of the Glee kids came by for a visit."

"Yeah, for about five minutes," Finn muttered.

"He's right," Kurt said sheepishly. "And the movie took about four hours to watch because I kept falling asleep during the good parts."

Carole indicated the video case and Burt made a face. "Chicago has good parts?"

"It's a great movie!" Kurt protested indignantly. Then he huffed a little laugh when he caught the sly smile on his father's face and realized that he was being teased. "Just because you think cinematic entertainment stops with Jackie Chan doesn't mean the rest of us have no taste."

Finn laughed. "Snap!" Burt shot him a glare and he immediately buried his face back in the book, still smirking.

"Hey, you're the guy who likes to watch all those corny '80s comedies," Burt pointed out, grinning when Kurt shut his mouth with an audible click. "Ghostbusters, Sixteen Candles, Three Men and a Baby, should I go on?"

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest, attempting a haughty sniff that came out as more of a snuck due to his stuffy nose. "You seem to laugh at them often enough when I watch."

Burt chuckled. "I never said I didn't agree with you." Merry blue eyes met shiningly hopeful greener ones as Burt looped an arm around Carole's waist and said, "It sounds like you guys had way too much fun without me today. Since I've got nursing duty tomorrow, what do you say I pick up some more ice cream and then you and me can spend the day stuffing ourselves silly with empty calories and cheese-ball movies?"

Pure delight suffused Kurt's pale complexion with a wash of color. "Really?"

An extremely fake-sounding cough was heard from Finn. "Mom, I think I might be catching whatever Kurt has. Can I stay home tomorrow?"

She laughed. "Nice try, buster."

He grinned and shrugged. "Worth a shot."

"As for you two," she continued, looking back and forth between the two Hummels, "I'm going to have to insist that you eat something nutritious along with all that ice-cream you have planned. Okay?"

"We could make sundaes," Kurt teased. "And put cherries on top."

Burt nodded. "Cherries are good for you."

Carole laughed, pressing her lips against Burt's smooth scalp. "You men are impossible."

"Yeah, but you love us anyway," Burt said, smiling into her eyes as he stole a proper kiss.

She kissed him firmly in return. "Strangely enough, I do."

They both laughed when the two boys looked at each other and made identical '_ewww'_ faces at all the blatant parental smooching.

"All right, we get the message. Who wants dinner?" Carole asked them with a smile. "Rice, chicken and green beans."

Finn was out of his chair like a shot, book abandoned in the seat. "I'll go set the table!"

Kurt looked sadly in the direction of his departed friend. "I really like that dinner," he said wistfully.

"But you don't feel like eating?" Carole guessed.

He shook his head, coughing and then blowing his nose. "Being a human snot factory is making me feel kind of nauseated." Fingers massaging his Adam's apple, he added, "My throat has finally started to feel a little better. I really _don't_ want to start throwing up."

"I don't blame you. How about I just fix up the rest of that soup you had earlier and some bread?"

Kurt looked guilty as he asked, "Would it be okay if I just called it a night instead? I'm sorry, I know it's super early and I've been sleeping all day, but . . ."

"You don't have to apologize, Kurt," his dad told him, standing up from the chair to brush Kurt's bangs back and lay a hand on his forehead. "You go right ahead and head for bed if you're tired. You can eat whenever you're ready."

He looked so relieved that both adults knew Burt had made the right decision.

"Why don't you and Finn get started on dinner?" Carole suggested. "I need to fix Kurt one last dose of his medicine and put a couple of these extra pillows on the bed so he'll stay elevated enough to breathe easily while he's sleeping."

Kurt ducked his head, blushing at the realization that she intended to put him to bed like a child, but it was a sign of just how terrible he still felt that he did not offer any protest.

Holding out his hand, Burt helpfully hoisted the boy to his feet, pulling him into a gentle bear hug. "You get some rest, son. I'll see you in the morning."

For a moment, Kurt simply stood there, resting his weary head against his father's strong shoulder. Then he pulled away and trudged toward the basement steps, every footstep unusually heavy with fatigue.

"Poor kid," Burt murmured. "Maybe I should go down there."

Carole patted him on the arm. "Let me do this by myself. We've come a long way today, Kurt and I. I'd really like to see it through and stay with him until he falls asleep again."

Burt smiled warmly into her eyes. "How'd a guy like me ever get lucky enough to find somebody as great as you?"

"It wasn't luck," she reminded him with a laugh. "It was Kurt."


	7. Chapter 7

I have the guilty feeling that I should be issuing shots of insulin with this chapter. Or maybe just letting you borrow Kurt's box of tissues . . .

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Carole took her time prepping the flu medicine, giving Kurt a few minutes of privacy before she carried the cup and two slices of toast down to his bedroom. He had claimed not to be hungry, but she just did not like the idea of sending him to sleep on a completely empty stomach.

Having expected to find him already in bed, Carole was surprised to see Kurt sitting in the little straight backed chair that went with his makeup table, staring at the assortment of products on its surface with a strange, lost expression.

"Kurt?" she said, setting her burden down. Coming to stand behind him, she placed both of her hands on his shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze, meeting his eyes in the large makeup mirror. "Are you all right?"

To her great dismay, moisture welled up in those big blue eyes. "Every night, before bed, I have a routine," he explained, his breath hitching. "Cleanser, exfoliating ointment, moisturizer, z-zit cream, and re-hydrating lotion. It takes a wh-whole hour."

Carole found herself at a complete loss on how to help him, particularly since she did not quite understand the problem.

Luckily, Kurt seemed to take her silence as encouragement to continue. He gulped hard, lips wobbling as he wiped his red, runny nose and then pointed to a bumpy outbreak on his chin. "Just look at this! If I skip, I'm going to look like a leper by tomorrow morning." The tears started again, sliding pitifully down his cheeks. "But I'm so tired . . . I just _can't_."

He broke down on the final word, tears finally overtaking him as he wrapped one arm tight around his middle and dropped his face into his other hand.

For a moment, Carole had felt tempted to laugh at Kurt's tragic behavior, but when he started crying in earnest all humor vanished from her heart. She understood that this was not really about moisturizer. It was about an exhausted little boy who had been feeling miserable and out of control all day, and had finally reached the limit of his emotional tether when his body refused to allow him even this one small piece of comforting normalcy.

"Aw, come here, sweetie," she crooned, pulling him out of his chair and over to sit on the bed, wrapping him in her arms and stroking his hair as he sobbed miserably against her shoulder. "Shh, it's all right. Just let it out."

It took a few minutes before Kurt finally recovered enough to pull away, dashing both hands over his cheeks and rubbing furiously at his teary eyes. "Oh, God, you must think I'm s-such a baby. Why can't I ever just be like Finn?"

She smiled, cupping his cheek and stroking away a newly fallen tear with her thumb. "You're not being a baby. You're just tired, and sick and maybe a little bit cranky. And do you really think I've never done this for Finn? That he's never cried because he was feeling bad?"

Kurt just looked at her curiously, hopefully.

"He has," she confirmed. "Everyone cries sometimes, when they're upset or overwhelmed, or just too tired to deal with anything."

He ducked his head, suddenly shy in the face of her understanding. "I guess."

Snuffling wetly, he swiped at his nose again, making Carole lean over and grab the tissue box off the makeup table. "Blow," she ordered.

Kurt obeyed, and then cleaned away his tear tracks with the wet-wipe she handed him.

"Why don't you hop into bed and we'll see if we can't fast-track the nightly ritual a little?" Carole suggested with a smile, giving him another hug before standing up and turning down the covers, allowing him to climb in and get comfortable around the tall stack of pillows.

Obeying his silent directives to figure out which beauty product was which, she squeezed a bit of exfoliant onto a cotton ball and swiped it gently over Kurt's face, following with a second pass of moisturizer. It did not escape her notice that Kurt was becoming less tense by the minute, seeming to enjoy the mini-facial.

Squeezing a little of the anti-zit cream onto Kurt's fingertips, she allowing him to apply it to his own chin while she cleaned away the rest of the mess from his bed. "I think that should be enough to hold you for just this one night, and I doubt your dad will notice if you have a couple of blemishes in the morning."

"Dad thinks I worry too much about my looks anyway," he agreed. He bit his lip, then asked, "Do you think, maybe, you could sort of forget to mention what happened a few minutes ago? To Dad, I mean?"

Carole made a zip and lock motion across her lips, winning a tired smile from Kurt.

"Thanks." He snuggled a little more comfortably into his bed. "For everything, I mean. You're really cool."

It was the ultimate compliment from a teenaged boy and Carole cherished it. "You're pretty cool yourself," she told him. "Speaking of which, I'm afraid this flu medicine isn't very hot anymore, but you really ought to drink it."

Kurt shook his head at the food, but swallowed the medicine without complaint, only grimacing and coughing a little at the bitter residue that had settled at the bottom of the cup.

Rolling onto his side, he watched as Carole threw away the cold toast slices and then arranged the contents of his makeup table back into their usual apple-pie order. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want," she said bravely.

He took his time formulating the question and Carole braced herself, suspecting that he was about to ask for her ultimate intentions toward his father or something equally as weighty, but all he said was, "Did Finn get his voice from his dad, or from you?"

She blinked, startled. "Um, well, I do sing a little if that's what you're wondering."

"Could you?" he requested.

When she did not reply right away, he blushed and averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. It's just . . . it's something my mom used to do for me when I was sick. Sometimes I can't remember what it felt like when she was still alive, you know? I always miss her, but more and more the memory is less about what _I_ can remember than about the stuff my dad tells me. Today, with you taking care of me, it all kind of brought her back."

Carole smiled sadly, sitting next to Kurt on the bed. "And it made you miss her even more?"

"She would have liked you," he said, ignoring the question. Hesitating for a moment, he ventured, "I think, maybe it would make her really happy to know that Dad and I have somebody to . . . to love again."

Those final words were spoken so quietly and shyly that she almost missed them. Then her eyes flooded with happy tears. "Oh, Kurt," she said, bending forward to kiss his too-warm face. "I love you too, sweetie."

He did not reply in words, but wrapped his arms around her neck and held on tightly for a few seconds.

"Close your eyes," Carole whispered as he lay back down. She waited until he obeyed, afraid she would not be able to do this without choking up if he looked at her. Clearing her throat, she began lightly stroking his hair in the same soothing rhythm she had employed that morning.

Kurt sighed happily when she started to sing the first thing that came into her mind. She was not much for musical theater, but Carole Hudson did know her Disney movies. This song had always been at the top of Finn's best-loved-lullabies list when he was a toddler.

Baby mine, don't you cry.  
Baby mine, dry your eyes.  
Rest your head close to my heart,  
Never to part,  
Baby of mine.

The song apparently worked equally well for teenagers, if Kurt's contented smile and increased relaxation were anything to judge by. He was asleep within moments, but Carole continued her gentle stroke, lowering her voice as she finished out the melody.

From your head down to your toes  
You're not much goodness knows.  
But you're so precious to me,  
Sweet as can be,  
Baby of mine.


	8. Chapter 8

I started this story with a short section from Burt's POV, so I decided to return to that for the final chapter. Thank you all so much for all the supportive – and at times hilarious – feedback. Over 100 comments, most of them starting with the word, "Aww". Score! LOL

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Burt hummed a little tune under his breath as he and Carole finished washing up the breakfast dishes. They moved about the kitchen in easy syncopation, almost as if they had been doing things like this for years rather than months. He had not felt so comfortable with anyone since his wife died and performing such a mundane task together gave him a warm, secure feeling deep inside.

Carole had not told him much about what happened when she was putting Kurt to bed last night, but he could tell that something about it had touched her deeply. He had wanted to ask; almost _had_ asked, several times, but his son was a very private person in many ways and if Carole was guarding Kurt's trust, then he had to respect that even if it killed him.

His musings were interrupted by Finn, who stuck his head in the room and said, "Kurt's up. He looks a lot better today."

Wiping his hands on the towel, Burt put an arm around Carole and walked with her into the living room. Kurt was sitting on the sofa, not bothering with the heavy blankets he had used yesterday, and as he smiled up at them, it was obvious that he was feeling a great deal healthier. He had taken a shower, parted and combed his hair and shaved away the stubble that had looked so out of place on his typically immaculate young face. He had even made an effort at fashion, pairing his baby blue flannel pajamas with black moccasin slippers and a black silk dressing gown adorned with silver piping around the cuffs and collar. Burt privately thought the robe looked like something one might steal out of Hugh Hefner's closet, but he wasn't about to say so.

"Well, it looks like somebody has rejoined the land of the living!" Burt greeted him, smiling as he laid a hand against Kurt's forehead. They had a thermometer around the house somewhere, but he had never bothered to figure out where it had disappeared to. Even without it, however, he could tell that his son's temperature was much closer to normal. He still felt a little warm, but no longer worrisome. "How do you feel?"

Kurt made a so-so gesture with his hand.

"Throat sore again?"

He nodded, coughing a little, and Carole made a sympathetic clucking noise. "I'll go fix you some more medicine," she offered, starting to leave the room.

Burt stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I got it covered. You gotta get to work and I'm pretty sure you promised Finn a ride to school."

Finn was the only member of the household who did not own his own car, a situation that Burt and Carole had already discussed remedying come Finn's next birthday, Kurt aiding and abetting the notion by dropping hints as subtle as nuclear bombs every time he was forced to attend one of Finn's sporting events after school in order to give his friend a ride home. A situation that somehow always ended up with Kurt playing chauffeur to Puck, Matt, Mike and any other stragglers who happened to be loitering around the baseball field.

"Oh, you're right," Carole said, looking exasperated with herself. Glancing at Finn, she said, "I'm sorry, honey, I forgot."

He shrugged. "You've been kinda busy," he said, looking pointedly at Kurt. Then a crafty little smile worked its way across Finn's lips and he crouched down, flashing his best pleading look at his friend. "Hey, maybe, since you're going to be home all day anyway and it's just sitting in the garage, maybe I could borrow your SUV."

Kurt's eyes widened.

"I mean, you _do_ kind of owe me a favor," Finn continued, his sad-puppy look impossibly becoming even more pathetic. "You were so congested last night that you were snoring all night. And I do mean _all_ _night_. _**Loud**_. I could hardly get any sleep at all. Plus, didn't I get up in the middle of the night and pound on your back when you started coughing? Then went upstairs and made you some hot tea . . . with honey . . . _and_ lemon?"

"Fine! Okay! You win! You can borrow the Navigator," Kurt caved. "But you get one scratch on my baby and you are toast."

To Kurt's great embarrassment, both Finn and his father burst out laughing. They just could not help it. The cold had settled in his chest, making his voice about an octave deeper than it should have been, giving away the main reason he had been unwilling to speak.

"Congratulations, Kurt," Burt teased, patting his shoulder. "I think your voice has finally changed!"

Kurt gave him a sour smile, clearly not thinking that was funny at all.

Carole smacked him on the chest. "Be nice." Addressing Kurt, she asked, "Are you hungry?"

A surprised look came over Kurt's face and he rubbed a hand across his stomach. "Starving."

Burt winked at him. "Glad to hear it! Chef Hummel is on the job."

"Nothing too heavy," Carole worried.

"Honey, I've been feeding the kid for sixteen years. I know what he likes." Looking at Kurt, he recited, "Scrambled eggs, no runny parts, crispy bacon with no fat curls or burned stuff, and English muffins with butter and organic honey. Apple juice, but only if it's _not_ made from concentrate, and a glass of ice-cold 1% milk on the side. Right?"

Kurt looked happy. "Exactly right."

Carole smiled warmly at them both. "Sounds like you're in good hands. And your dad went out and bought some more ice cream last night after you went to bed, so you boys are all set."

"I got the keys, Mom," Finn interrupted, appearing from the kitchen where he had gone to fetch Kurt's spare set off the hook where they were kept. He grinned hugely. "Want a ride?"

She looked pleased, hugging her son's arm. "Thank you, I would love one."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "See why I don't trust him with my car, Dad? He's had possession for less than two minutes and he's already picking up hot women."

This time it was Carole who burst out laughing. She struck a vampy pose, patting her hair. "Why, thank you."

Burt gave his smiling son a hand up, pulling him close with an elbow around his neck. "You trying to steal my girl?"

"Maybe," he teased back. Stepping out of his dad's hold, Kurt wrapped his arms around Carole and hugged her tightly. "Have a good day, Carole. Thanks again for taking such good care of me yesterday."

"You're welcome, sweetie. You take it easy today."

Finn waved goodbye with that broad grin still plastering his face, ushering his mother out the door quickly as though fearing that Kurt would find some reason to change his mind about the vehicle if they lingered.

Kurt's gaze stayed on the door for a few seconds after it had closed; a strange little smile on his face. "We really are lucky, aren't we?"

That warm, secure feeling swept over Burt even stronger than before. Kurt had been the catalyst for his relationship with Carole, but until now he had never seemed personally interested in her as anything more than a casual friend and shopping partner. As much a project as a person. He had certainly never engaged in such casual affection with her before.

Suddenly, Burt no longer cared if he never found out the details of what had gone on yesterday between Carole and Kurt. The result was more than enough for him.

Looping his arm back around Kurt's shoulders, he gave him a tug toward the kitchen. "We sure are, son. We sure are."


End file.
